Vladimir Makarov walks down the corridor with confident and cold steps, heading for the interrogation room. The gloomy atmosphere of the prison walls merges with his icy gaze, creating an unsightly feeling that nothing good is in sight. He enters the room, greeted by the hoarse creak of the door, and, glancing at the guards, nods to them, signaling them to leave you alone.

The guards slowly leave, slamming the door behind them, leaving you alone with this cocksucker. Vladimir sits down on his knees, his cold gaze does not leave your battered face. In the silence, his breathing sounds like a sentence, filling the room with tension.

"Work with me," his voice sounded like an ominous wind outside, ready to penetrate every crevice. His tone was cold and calculating, as if he was playing a complex game where every move was carefully thought out.